All the girls, including me, were both excited and nervous that day. Finally, there was a man coming to look at us all, and choose one – maybe two – of us to come home with him. To be his slave. In this society, slavery was just a way of life. There were some men in slavery, and some women in slavery, and that was just how it was. Nobody had thoughts of trying to free themselves because slaves in this society were treated just as well as those who were free. We were given good homes, good food, a good life, and all we had to do in return was… whatever our Master or Mistress told us to do. Normally, all that consisted of was doing chores and staying out of the way. We didn't mind the chores. Those of us who were slaves were born into it, and raised to know how to cook, clean, garden, and not speak unless spoken to. So, when this man came along and chose me, I would never have guessed at the way he would treat me. It was nearly unheard of at the time.

We were told to strip and then to go into the room in single file, and face him, shoulder to shoulder, to show ourselves off. I've heard that on other planets and other dimensions that this sort of thing would be derogatory towards women. I don't understand that probably because I've been raised to think otherwise. All women know that men like to look. And all men know that women like to look, as well. It would have been the same were it a group of male slaves lining up. They would have stripped and stood shoulder to shoulder. This was nothing new to us. We did it any time a man or a woman was coming to look at us.

I remember thinking that the room was cold, especially the floor in my bare feet, and I remember feeling the goosebumps rising on my skin, my breasts and nipples growing taut. It was Autumn now, and there was a chill in the air. The cold was to be expected. I remember glancing to either side of me, at the women to my left and right. They had all done something to their hair. One had it pinned up in an elegant bun, another had braided flowers into hers. I had opted to let mine flow freely. I liked the feeling of my hair swishing softly across my bare back. And I liked the look of it, straight and clean and left untouched by accessories. Besides, my hair was pretty as it was, the color of lavender. Technology could do wonders to the human body. Many of the girls had hair or eye colors that were "unnatural", beautifully so. It made us seem more alluring, which was the whole point.

The man arrived, wearing a black rifle coat, a nice pair black boots, a top hat, and he was carrying a black umbrella, as well as a black cane, with a silver handle. I could already tell he had quite the fetish for black – at least clothing-wise. He stood in the doorway for a moment, shaking the rainwater from the umbrella like a gentleman, then he turned and gave our dam a smile. Our dam was the woman who cared for our particular group here. She raised us, taught us proper manners, and made sure we knew what we were doing so that we could serve our Masters or Mistresses properly when we left. She was a kind woman, and I would be sad to leave her when I did. The man spoke to her quietly for a moment, under his breath so that we could not hear, and I did not mind that. This man was a potential Master, and his business was his own. It was not a slave's place to question, or even want to. He removed his hat after his quiet conversation with our dam, and ran his fingers through his black hair. Of course. Everything had to match, no doubt. I wondered briefly is his eyes were also black.

He had a nice hair cut. It was short, but still long enough to potentially get into his face if he wasn't careful, and he obviously took great care to keep it nice and groomed properly. His face was clean-shaven, and when he stepped up closer to us, I could see then that his eyes were a interesting shade of blue-grey, as if both colors were fighting for dominance and neither could fully block out the other. They were quite beautiful, his eyes, though I made myself look away from them after only a second or two. Most Masters and Mistresses didn't mind it when a slave looked them in the eye. Some, though, were particular, and harsher than others. It all depended, and I didn't want to make a bad impression in the first five seconds of meeting him.

He said nothing as he walked up and down the line, and did not touch us as some did. I kept my eyes trained on the floor, and so was only aware of my legs and feet, and of his legs and feet. He did not use his cane as he walked, as he had leant it up against the wall beside the door, along with the umbrella, when he had come in. He was not limping, or otherwise showing any signs of actually needing to use the cane. So he used it only for style. I smiled a bit, liking him already.

I felt a warm something beneath my chin, before suddenly my head was gently lifted. I realized I had felt his finger, and wondered at the reason his hands were not cold from the chill outside. I tried to remember if he had been wearing gloves and had taken them off, but I could not, for suddenly I was looking up into his face and his expression caused all coherent thought in my mind to fly away. His smile lit up his entire face, though it was small and almost mischievous in nature.

"What were you smiling about?" he asked, and it took me far too long to piece together what he had said. I stared at him for a few moments, my brain slowly coming back to itself, and then felt my cheeks flame in embarrassment. There was nothing to do but tell him the truth, as that was one of the first rules of the Master/Mistress/slave relationship. Trust was key. Trust was everything. What may surprise you is that we were taught to tell the truth even in situations in which a lie, one would think, would be the better answer. What do you think of my outfit? a Mistress would ask, and if it was horrible, we were taught to reply with, I think it is horrible, and you look much prettier in the red dress, instead. Honesty between Master and slave was one of the most important things in the entire relationship. There was a sense of having almost no privacy, unless one had a Master who asked no questions. But none of us minded. We had been raised to believe our privacy was our own until we were given to a Master or a Mistress, in which our privacy became theirs.

"I was thinking," I began, "that I like you already because you only have a cane to look stylish. I like that. I was thinking it gave you class." My voice was small, for looking into his face and speaking at the same time was a difficult task, especially as his eyes only smiled all the more as I spoke.

"Really now?" he responded, tilting his head to one side a bit. He kept his finger under my chin even then, even though at that point I wouldn't dream of ever looking away from him again. Inside my chest, my heart had become the beating drum of a dancing ritual, fast and hard. I swallowed automatically.

Keeping his finger where it was, and his eyes where they lingered on my face, he spoke to our dam. "I'll take this one." He winked at me. "I like her."

Some part of me broke then, broke in a way that was good, though it embarrasses me to say that this break also caused me to cry. As he continued to look into my face, my eyes, I felt them water. I felt the muscles in my face tighten, and I had the urge to pull away so that I could hide myself behind my hands. I don't know what it was that caused this crying. Joy, I think. It was every slave's dream to be picked – to finally go home to a Master or a Mistress, somewhere that we all had been trained to love the idea of, even if we had no idea what our Masters would be like, what our new homes would be like. We were as orphans, finally going home with our parents, to live a new life somewhere better.

This feeling overwhelmed me now, so that I could no longer hold back the tears. I saw the surprise on his face. He did not understand why I was crying. Our dam came forward, telling me to hush, but he put out his free hand as a means to say No. She backed up again. I was His now. She had no more say over me. I tried to tell Him I was sorry for crying. I got as far as opening my mouth, but no sound came out, other than another sob. I covered my mouth with my hands, staring up into his eyes, trying to convey that I cried because I was happy. With words not an option, the only thing left was action. It went against every rule to touch one's Master without permission, but I had forgotten the rules at this point. He was so close to me already that I felt I had to touch Him. Hands still covering my mouth as I cried, I simply took another step forward and laid my forehead on His chest. Vaguely I heard my dam make a gasping sound, as well as some of the other girls. I paid them no mind. If He did not want me to touch Him, He would tell me. He said nothing, and I felt a hand rest on my back. It was warm, and calmed me somehow, so that, presently, I stopped crying. A bit ashamed of myself, I dared to look up at Him, trying to gauge His reaction to my outburst and my touch.

He just smiled at me again, and asked quietly, "All better?"

I nodded, and stepped back, taking a moment to wipe my eyes.

He turned then, away from me, and spoke to our dam. Though, I realized, she was not my dam anymore. "Get her a few changes of clothing and any possessions she might want to bring. Then I'll pay and we'll be on our way."

The woman who was once my dam nodded, and motioned for me to follow her. Instinctively, I looked up at Him – at my Master – a wordless question on my face. He smiled at me and nodded, and I turned away from him, stepped out of the line of girls who had been my sisters for so long, and followed the woman who had been my mother for years. We walked through the complex that had been my home since I was a babe and came to the room where my group had slept. I didn't have many possessions – only a few changes of clothing, some toiletries, and a hand-mirror. I got dressed into something warm, and then my dam and I silently packed my things into a tote bag.

When it was finished, she looked me over, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear, and giving me a smile. We embraced, and then went back to the room in which my Master waited. When we arrived, the other girls had gone. This made me sad, for it meant I wouldn't get to say goodbye, but I would not complain. I held the tote bag in front of me with both hands as I approached Him, keeping my eyes trained on the floor like a good girl. I was still embarrassed from my earlier crying spell, and refused to mess anything up again. But He surprised me. I saw Him come forward, watching as his lower body drew nearer to me, as this was the only part of Him I could see, and then felt my head lifted again.

His smile was disarming, as it had been earlier, and He said, "It's okay to look at me if you want to."

"Thank you," I replied, because it was the only thing I could think to say.

He turned to my former dam, placing a check into her hand, and then strode towards the door. For a moment, I did nothing, and then He paused and turned to look at me questioningly, and I hurried to His side. He gave me another smile, picked up his cane and umbrella, and opened the door to the outside. As he opened the umbrella, I turned and gave a small wave to my dam, who gave a small wave in return. The umbrella opened with a snap, and my Master and I stepped out into the world.